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Chapter 3

Dissension

Grayson was not only blind to the continued attempts on his life, he was also stupid, Damian decided. The only reason the man was still alive was because he possessed some kind of sixth sense and had unholy fast reflexes. That, and Drake had undermined his attempt last night to asphyxiate the man by increasing the inert gas in his room.

Grayson also appeared to think Damian's ambush attempts were part of some big play-fighting game.

This particular time, when Damian had launched himself down from the chandelier and crashed into Grayson's back, the resulting tussle ended up with them falling to the floor and rolling around in a tangle of limbs. Grayson fought dirty, distracting Damian, who was in the middle of establishing a death grip around his neck, by blowing softly into his ear. Damian emitted a high-pitched yelp and released his hold at the tingling sensation. He was flipped over in an instant, Grayson grinning triumphantly as he sat on his stomach and engaged in a merciless tickling spree.

"Surrender, for I have won!" Grayson crowed like it was all one big game.

To Damian's utmost humiliation, choked laughter burst free from his throat. "Hahahaha… n-n-never!" he swore as he gasped for air. To add insult to injury, he felt tiny beads of moisture fall from the corners of his eyes from the lack of oxygen.

"So cute!" Grayson ceased his underhanded tactics to stare in awe at him.

Before whipping out his cell phone and snapping a picture of Damian's teary-eyed, flushed red face and mussed hair.

"This is going to be my new wallpaper!" Grayson cooed.

Grayson was going to die.

Very soon.

As soon as Damian got his breath back.

And his pride.

When Dick went looking for Bruce mid-afternoon, it was to find him with Tim in the labs down in the cave, the two of them bent over some project in a beaker Dick couldn't quite see. As he approached, Tim picked up a clipboard and tucked it against his side, turning to go.

"Hey, Dick." Tim smiled as he slipped past, presumably to go scan the notes on the clipboard into the batcomputer. He looked happy again—that brilliant, openly pleased expression from last night. It stopped Dick in his tracks. That difference. Something about that lack of reservation. Something about the way he looked at Bruce and Dick, that bright happiness… Dick was totally for his little brother becoming closer to Bruce. Tim needed affection, even if he didn't know how to ask for it, and Bruce needed someone to ground him. Heaven knew he, himself, had been on shaky terms with the man for long enough. It was nice to see Tim wasn't making that mistake.

So why did it bother him?

Frowning, he made his way over to Bruce, who was prodding a swirling black cloud in a beaker.

"What is it?" Dick asked, leaning over curiously.

"Awhile back," the man replied, still focused on the beaker, "Wayne Industries was attacked by nanotech bent on assimilating all our technology. After it was neutralized, I confiscated some of it. Robin and I have been studying it, seeing if we can put it to better purposes." Bruce's mouth twitched with that almost-smile of his as he turned to regard his oldest. Dick was well aware his eyebrows had hiked up again, staring with renewed interest at the fine black tech in the beaker.

"I miss all the good stuff in Bludhaven."

"You could always stay." The softening of Bruce's eyes was fondness creeping in.

"You know I can't." They'd tried that. It hadn't worked out. Thinking about it only brought back that melancholy that accompanied lost opportunities and strained family ties. Then a large hand covered his where it rested on the table, and Dick looked up, surprised. He hadn't realized he'd taken to staring down at the steel table, grimacing.

"Stay anyway." Bruce's thumb stroked over his knuckles, comforting, connecting. Dick had always been particularly vulnerable to physical stimuli, and it was so easy to let the caress lull him into a sense of security, but…

"It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

"I have my own place now." Dick gestured, frustrated and uncertain. "I have to go back."

"There are so many reasons for you to stay." Yeah, one of them had tried to kill him. Dick fought the fond smile, shaking his head. It was true that Damian needed him, but Tim was the one he was worried about. Tim, whose smile was sometimes too bright and whose cheerfulness was sometimes too strained, like he was trying to reassure Dick more than anything. Tim, who looked happier than ever on the outside, but more broken up inside. Tim, who was hurting.

What was his little brother hiding?

"Did something happen to Tim?"

"Damian's arrival has caused some… turbulence." Bruce eyed him askance. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"No. I mean… that must be it." He knew his worry, his uncertainty, must still be in his smile, but he tried for it anyway as he wrapped his arms around Bruce one last time and tried to let the man's warmth reassure him. "Thank you."

The little demon brat had been sitting cross-legged in the middle of the doorway for a little over four hours now, staring at him. Jason couldn't tell if this was some new form of meditation or if the pest had fallen asleep like that, his features narrowed in a fixed scowl, blue eyes fierce and unwavering. It was unnerving either way.

"Think you could find something else to stare at?"

"It's my duty as Father's heir to see that you are properly guarded. Though I don't see why he doesn't just dispose of you and get it over with." Not asleep then. Such a pity.

"That's a no for you releasing me, I take it?"

"Tt. Father says you tried to kill him. I don't know what he sees in you people."

Jason decided that whatever was bugging the brat, it wasn't his problem, and went back to push-ups against the headboard. Or he tried to.

"I mean, what is wrong with this family?" Damian burst out, apparently not realizing the irony of that statement. If it were possible, his scowl had deepened. Jason sighed, resigned to dealing with the moodiness, and looked over at the little rain cloud in his doorway meaningfully.

"Bluebird hug-fest on you?" Really, when had he become the family therapist? Or was he just the designated outlet for Robins disgruntled with the rest of the family? The little demon had probably been doing something too cute for Dick to ignore. Like trying to rig the microwave to explode.

"He tickled me," Damian admitted sullenly to a very interesting spot on the wall, tips of his ears pink. Jason nearly choked on his laughter. The sound startled him. It had been awhile since he'd found anything to laugh at.

"He's impossible when he wants attention," Jason agreed, feeling just the tiniest bit vindicated that someone else was suffering too.

"I mean, I attempted to eliminate him, and he tickled me!" Clearly the brat had never dealt with retaliatory action quite like this, his little ninja world imploding under the strain. "It's like I'm stuck in some Disney film! The AristoBats or something!" Apparently Dick had introduced him to the wonderful world of animation as well.

"I see the indoctrination has begun." Jason raised an eyebrow. "Aristocats already? Careful, it's a slippery slide from there to Bambi." He was half-joking, but it was true that Dick might make sure the brat had a full Disney education.

"Bambi?" Damian asked warily.

"Yep," Jason replied solemnly. "Bambi." He flopped onto his back, free hand pillowed under his head. "Stick around much longer and their whole family act will domesticate you too. You're already half tame, sleeping in the house, wanting the master's praise."

"I'm not a cat, Todd." Damian glowered disdainfully. "Not that your inability to provide meaningful analogies surprises me."

"I'm just saying…" Jason shrugged off the protest, smirking at the ceiling. "How long until you're declawed and never think of chasing birds again?"

"I cannot be broken so easily." Damian dismissed the notion.

"Really? Do you honestly think he'll still want you if you kill any of his birds? You're already domesticated, brat, you just don't know it yet."

Damian didn't deign to respond, outburst apparently over. He went back to scowling, twice as furiously, perhaps insulted, or perhaps genuinely concerned about Bruce's plans for him. Jason let him stew, turning smugly back to his push-ups.

"Kid couldn't make it?" Jason asked. He didn't have to look up to know it was their mandatory family time again, to feel the distinct Tim-lessness of the presence at the door. Not that he was surprised by the absence after his quarrel with the kid that morning. And he certainly didn't mind having one less witness to his humiliation, not one bit. When the two of them were together, when Tim was curled up against Bruce's leg or worse, settled next to Jason—like Jason needed the company or something—the sappiness was thick enough to choke on.

"Robin seemed upset by the prospect," Bruce replied, blue eyes knowing. "Did you upset him?"

"The kid isn't any of my concern."

"Yet you protected him when he ran to you." The man sounded pleased by that. Of course he was. His boys were taking care of each other. Like a proper family. Jason glowered at the wall.

He could still see that night, the boy curled in the bed he'd practically thieved, unmolested in sleep by the cares of consciousness. Jason could still feel the protectiveness that had welled in him at the sight. Back when they had both been free. Before Tim had gone off the deep end.

"You care about him." Those words were damning. Jason bristled.

"I care about keeping the kid away from you!" Not like that had done any good, ever. Tim really wasn't his responsibility. The kid had proven multiple times over that he didn't want Jason's help getting out of this situation. He only wished he knew why, what had changed the kid's mind.

"I hope you'll come to see differently."

"Good luck." Jason settled on the bed, obstinately facing the wall. He wasn't about to make this any easier on Bruce. If the man wanted him all complacent and docile as Tim, he could think again. Jason didn't roll over for anyone. Of course, that didn't get him out of story time…

He couldn't see the man now, but he heard the flutter of paper anyway as Bruce opened the book he'd been idly fingering in his lap, turning to the worn bookmark. There was a brief hesitation and then the man's voice spilled over the room: inflective and deep, using every word to tell the story.

Jason's scowl deepened and he wondered if he could strangle Bruce with the sheets, but no… he couldn't overpower the man like this, and if he tried and failed, Bruce might find his other weapon. Better to wait for Tim. Better to work on the kid.

He was just going to have to suffer through another night of Swiss Family Robinson. The last night, thank heavens. It wasn't that the book was completely awful, but that Bruce had obviously chosen it for its family values…

"Darkness has closed around me," Bruce read. "For the final time my united family slumbers beneath my care."

Jason buried his head in the pillow while Bruce's warm baritone filled the room with his deceptively caring words, and fingered comfortingly the fork he'd hidden underneath, in a little hole in the mattress. Tim would come back eventually. He always did, no matter how cruel Jason was, no matter what he did. Tim would come back and Jason would be ready…

"Tomorrow this last chapter of my journal will pass into the care of my eldest son. From a distance I greet thee, Europe! I greet thee, beloved old Switzerland!"

Finally, finally, Bruce fell silent, the words trailing off. The back cover fell closed with a gentle thud, and Bruce set the book aside.

"We'll have to start a new story tomorrow. I believe it's Robin's turn to pick." Bruce didn't make any move to leave though. The man's presence was still thick and heavy in the room. Jason waited, not giving him an inch, and eventually there was a sigh followed by a small rustling sound as the man stood. Large fingers brushed Jason's hair.

"Good night, son."

Jason's hands clenched down on the pillow, furious, but he wouldn't blow things now. Not now. The sound of the door closing for the night was a release, but Jason held onto his anger. He'd never been able to let it go, and he was thankful for that just then. The anger was the reminder of everything that was wrong, the only thing keeping him sane when he wanted to give in.

The anger was all he had left.

Later that night, after Batman and Robin had left for patrol, Damian stared at the pile of rubble before him, a little daunted, even if he'd never admit it. The crash had reduced Nightwing's bike to a twisted carcass, the front crushed irreparably, jagged strips of metal protruding from the beast like snapped ribs.

Across from him, Grayson whistled despairingly.

"This is going to be one tough fix." The idiot had volunteered to stay with him tonight instead of patrolling with Father and Drake like he really wanted to do. Of course, it was true that his transportation was busted and that it was somewhat, kind of, mostly, Damian's fault, but it wasn't like there weren't other vehicles the man could take.

"You don't have to help."

"Of course I do! What are brothers for?" Expertly, Grayson flipped and caught one of the wrenches, then twirled it around his hand.

"Annoying the rest of us apparently."

"You obviously just need some company to cheer you up!" Damian couldn't figure out if the man was really so dense he couldn't take a hint or if this was some subtle form of sarcasm. "Anyway," Grayson continued, "it'll be fun! Just the two of us!"

"Touch me and I'll break your fingers," Damian replied when Grayson made to tousle his hair. Apparently there was no getting rid of the man. He was stuck with that big, dopey smile, doomed to spend half the night listening to Grayson natter. Damian stared into those honestly happy blue eyes and wondered if this was some sort of additional punishment. At least it came with one benefit: the crestfallen expression on Drake's face when Grayson had told him they could patrol together tomorrow night instead. Damian fixed that expression in his mind—a pleasant thought to see him through the night—and got to work.

And if it turned out that Grayson actually had some usefulness handing him wrenches and pry bars, and if his consistent chatter was not so much a distraction as friendly background noise, and if the company actually lessened the oppressive gloom of the cave, well… at least the night wasn't altogether unpleasant.

Sometime later in the wee hours of the morning, Grayson's chatter turned into serial yawns until Damian gave up and threw a wrench at him, which the man only ducked absently.

"Go get some sleep," he growled, "or I'll knock you out with the pry bar next and leave your unconscious body for Father and Drake to find when they return." Really, the ridiculousness. Grayson only laughed.

"I knew you cared!" But he allowed Damian to chase him off, waving haphazardly with an, "I'm going! I'm going!" and another yawn. Damian's considering blue eyes followed the man into the dark well of the stairs, and if he found himself altering his plans to get rid of this second contender for his throne from slow strangulation to a quick, painless poison at a much later date (much later), well… it still didn't mean he cared.

Not long after Dick went to sleep, Damian crept upstairs and clung between ceiling beams, a shadow among shadows, hanging above the hall. He didn't have to wait long. The soft sigh of footsteps heralded the coming of his target, unsuspecting in his exhaustion after patrol. Damian clung tighter, sinking deeper into the shadows, listening to the footsteps draw closer. Just a second more. Another step.

Now.

Damian detached from the beams, springing down onto his unsuspecting target. Something must have alerted him though, because Drake spun at the last second, round kick catching Damian in the side. It sent him tumbling, winded, dazed with surprise. That kick had hurt more than usual. Drake was still wearing Robin, minus the cape. But no matter. Damian was already bounding to his feet.

Grayson he could live with. Grayson he could almost like. But Drake… Drake was insufferable. The older boy had taken his rightful place by Father's side, and Father doted on him, treated him like some perfect, precious, irreplaceable family heirloom. Father had picked him, bought him with blood.

If he broke the older boy, maybe Father would look at him.

"Another ill-conceived assassination attempt?" Drake asked, disappointed. "Why can't you accept me as your brother?"

"You're no brother of mine!" Damian replied, derisive. He lunged. "You were nothing more than Father's attempt to replace the family he lost. But now he has me. You're no longer needed."

"You're wrong." Drake dodged the attack, sweeping out with his foot again. "He cares about us. You don't know what he went through to bring us home."

"You mean how he killed your parents?" Damian sneered, flipping backward to avoid the kick, hands briefly touching down, before he was attacking again, not letting up. Not now that the other boy had slowed in shock. "What does it feel like to watch your father die? I wouldn't know."

"You know?" Drake froze, eyes wide. Damian's bare-footed kick actually landed, sending the taller boy tumbling across the cold marble floor and crashing into a chair. He hadn't even been able to control that fall. Heh.

"Tt. Of course I know." He followed, punch taking Drake full in the face. "Grandfather told me all about father's proclivities for orphaning boys and taking them home." Damian had spent a year afterward certain that Father would come for him, that Father would kill Talia (or try to, Mother was a force to be reckoned with) and take him home. The real son. The true son. But he hadn't. An oversight, surely. But then Father had never exerted much effort to keep Damian, not like the effort he'd put into keeping the others. Damian didn't understand it. Was he not important enough to warrant Father killing to collect him? Was he in some way inadequate? What was it that Drake had that he didn't?

Frustrated, he used the older boy's shock to hit him again, aiming fists at his face, kicking at ribs.

"Then why? Don't you realize how lucky you are?" Drake caught the next punch, shock wearing off, eyes narrowed dangerously. "You get your father and Batman." The older boy's gauntleted hand grabbed Damian's bare arm, using the double grip to flip him into the wall.

"That isn't good enough." Damian staggered to his feet, baring his teeth. " Not if you get them too." Oh yes, Drake's next kick snapped with restrained fury. It was worth the taunt, even if the kick sent him back to the floor. He grunted, struggling to stand again—because he wouldn't kneel at Drake's feet, not for anything, not even if every single one of his bones was broken. But he couldn't seem to get his feet under him, couldn't pull himself up with his arms. His limbs felt heavy, sluggish, his entire body weighted down. It didn't make sense. As much as it galled him to admit it, Drake hadn't been unduly violent, going for Father's nonlethal contact points. He wasn't that badly injured. So why…?

Drake stared down at him, knowing, and Damian tried to reach up, tried to lash out, anything. With growing horror, his eyes slid to Drake's hands, and now he could see… Neuromuscular inhibitor, his mind registered, taking in the traces of powder just visible from this distance on the black gauntlets. Drake had known, he realized. Every time he'd hit the older boy, he'd only been undermining himself.

"Oh, Damian," Drake said, slipping an arm under his knees—knees that stayed traitorously limp no matter how he told them to twist and kick. "Why couldn't you have just accepted me?" Damian's eyes were still wide. He couldn't move. Not a muscle. The older boy lifted him carefully into his arms, and Damian couldn't tell him to keep his filthy hands to himself, couldn't fight it, couldn't crawl… He seethed silently as Drake carried his limp, useless body up the stairs, the press of hands on his knee and shoulder burning brands. Then they reached his room and the older boy set him down on the bed with utmost consideration, pulling the covers up. It only stung worse. Damian couldn't even turn his head away.

On his way out, Drake stopped in the door. Damian could just make out his silhouette from the angle at which he'd been set.

"Good night, Baby Brother." And then the door closed, leaving Damian in the darkness and the humiliation.

Author Notes: I am so sorry this took so long (after you all gave me such beautiful reviews, too!). As usual, I finished the beginning and the end of the fic pretty quickly and got stuck in the middle chapters. I need to extend a scene in ch. 4 really quick, but it'll be up in two weeks this time, I promise.

Tim will point this out next chapter, but of course they aren't going to read Cinderella, because it's a story about abusive adoptive families. But they would read… Swiss Family Robinson, a story about a family banding together in difficult times. Subliminal messaging! (and if it doesn't sound right to you, it isn't; I had to switch words out so as not to infringe on copyright)

The instance where Jason protected Tim is, of course, referring to this story's prequel: House of Lies.

I stole quite a bit of this chapter from my beta, Schnickledooger. Used with her permission. She wrote at least an entire scene and a couple lines. I am eternally grateful for her help.

The reviews for this story. Jeez. How come my other stories never get such amazing reviewers? *happily finishes this story before any others*